In any artistic endeavor, worth is always subjective, given strength to those who would judge it meaningful or not. In recognition we poets collect an audience that relates to our expression and connects to their way of thinking. So often though, artists of any kind can be driven by ego alone, milking their audience by creating what is wanted rather than what they as artist want to express. That travesty demeans creativity and although success in a superficial way may come, the true worth of the work is not subject to just intention, rather the heart and soul of the artist in transparency. I try not to judge these kinds of people, and to be kind to their aspirations, yet often the truth just nudges me and for the honesty of art, I respond.
Seeing from where the words come,
is enlightening, yet an affront,
trying not to judge an oblivious reality,
for those deluded in their fashioned worlds,
pretenders who in ego’s hold,
find success in bland mediocrity.
I watch their projections,
their carefully honed infrastructures,
appearance their striving,
ineptitude the finding,
as they live in the illusions of grandeur,
that becomes a reality without worth.
How fascinating the process,
pretenders till success,
yet the audience is just as mediocre as they,
and relate they do to the carefully emotive ruse
of a would-be artist in a world of brilliance,
lack-luster they in their ambition.
Reality is not kind,
but the deluded can’t recognize it,
for they live in a different land,
consumed by their own possibility,
and in stoic stance plant their flags
often in righteous celebration of their ego.
Kind I must be,
for souls get lost in themselves,
their achievements a banner of standing,
and those who see not the truth,
revere them in their ruse and celebrate
their average, superficial emotions.
I admire aspirations,
striving to better art,
but the flagrant stroking of egos is not
my measure of worth,
for where the words come from is plain,
and artistry stands triumphant by itself.
The heart of a poet is giving,
for no other reason than sharing,
and honesty, creativity and clarity bleed from
each and every word,
untouched by ego, not tainted by intent,
and on the back of flighted beauty.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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